The Spencer Reid Journals
by windandwater93
Summary: Several months after the loss of one of their own, Spencer Reid is plagued by everything: His nightmares; his hallucinations. Work has suddenly become a chore for him and it isn't soon before he will begin to question everything: Even his own sanity.
1. The Spencer Reid Journals

ENTRY 1:Socrates once said: "To fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise, without being wise: for it is to think that we know what we do not know. For anything that men can tell, death may be the greatest good that can happen to them: but they fear it as if they knew quite well that it was the greatest of evils. And what is this but that shameful ignorance of thinking that we know what we do not know?"

Many times I've looked at this over and over and each and every time I find myself asleep in a matter of minutes, only to dream of Emily calling out to me, her hands and face covered in blood, and this figure beside her, laughing with a dirty knife in his hand while the rest of the team is on the ground, dead, their throats slit, the gristle of their windpipe showing. Morgan reaches out to me as blood slips from his lips. Run. Get out of here.

Before I can, though, I hear Emily scream. Help me. Spencer help me. Emily. Dead Emily. The same one that's buried and rotting underneath the earth…No. I've got to stop.

It's been two months. I can't be thinking like this. But the medications haven't helped. The therapy hasn't helped. Nothing has. My migraines have worsened and I can't think straight. No wonder Socrates is putting me to sleep. God, I can't even focus on the cases. We're on one right now. Thankfully, the details are still fresh in my mind. There is a man, somewhere, roaming around the streets of D.C., removing the faces of the people he's murdered and putting them in cardboard boxes. He places each individual box on the front door of their home with a Post-It attached to it. The words on each Post-It is different. The two men had TRAITOR and LIAR. The three woman had HYPOCRITE, PIG, and SLUT. The latest one for the women belonged to a prostitute named Jordan Hayes who was only was able to confirm that the only security camera on the strip club's premises had caught a witness. Of what it caught of her, she wasn't that old. Probably around eighteen or so. As I'm writing this, Garcia's busy trying to find a match to the bystander back at the BAU while I'm here at home, trying to get the rest Hotch sent me here to get.

But I can't. Everything is too loud. The cars outside, my thoughts, everything. Everything I try to do is all in a vain attempt to get some kind of sleep: Closing the curtains so nothing shines through, pressing the pillows so hard against my ears I can hear my heartbeat. I don't know if I can keep this up. We haven't even really started and I already feel like my head is splitting open. What is the matter with me? This shouldn't be happening. It can't be happening. Not now. I have to go. JJ's calling. Hold on a second.

I can't believe this. The witness was a prostitute, too. Alison Gray. Nineteen years old. And her boss said she never reported back to work last night. Morgan's on his way to pick me up so we can head over to the apartment her and Jordan supposedly shared. Why Hotch expects Morgan and I to get so much work done just by ourselves baffles me. Hasn't he noticed how off I've been? Hasn't he noticed that, rather than being a help to the team, I'm turning into a liability?I don't know what to do anymore. I mean, it's not like I can pour my guts out to Morgan again. He's not my freaking shrink. I don't pay him fifty dollars an hour. Even if I did tell him about the nightmares and the hallucinations, how would that make me look? It would make me look like the freaking baby, the one everyone feels like they have a responsibilty to take care of. And I hate it. I hate feeling like the person everyone needs to look out for. I hate burdening them with my problems. And I hate them. Damn them all. Let them all fucking rot in hell...Jesus. Not again. No. Not again. I have to go. Morgan's here.


	2. The Spencer Reid Journals 2

ENTRY 2:

Kill me. That's what she said. Kill me. Just kill me, please. Her eyes were wide, her knees scraped and bloody from where she had fallen onto the sidewalk. She grabbed my gun and pressed it against her forehead. Kill me. She cried, then, and wouldn't stop. Even by the time we arrived at the BAU she was still going, with her mascara streaking down her cheeks and gathering under her eyes. Questioning her was the hardest, since I had to watch from the opposite side of the glass as Hotch pried into the girl's personal life instead of questioning her myself. For some reason, I wanted to. I don't know what it was about her, but every time I looked at her something in me starting racing. It was worse than Lila back in Los Angeles. It was worse than that Austin girl at the bar.

Something in me just wanted her lips on mine. I wanted Alison Gray. I wanted the witness. And I still do.

That was three hours ago, nine o'clock p.m. Now, it's midnight and Alison Gray is in my shower. For a prostitute, she didn't act like one. She was quiet, vigilant, and every time someone got near her, she flinched. I couldn't blame her, though. She said that she had seen everything; from the murder, to the murderer himself. But her mind, she said, was blocked. Her story kept on changing. At first, the guy was short, but slim. Then, the unsub was tall and wide. In short, Hotch got infuriated fast and left the interrogation room.

"She needs to be protected until final notice or until her memory is stable enough for her story to be set in stone." He then looked at me. "Reid, either you or Morgan is taking her. What do you want to do?"

The logical part of me wanted Morgan to take her. I lived in a small apartment that consisted of the basics and shelves full of books. The supposed guest room was still full of cardboard boxes that I had brought with me when I moved in and it only had one bathroom. She was better off with Morgan, who had an actual home in a decent part of D.C.

Another part of me started whispering things, covering up the rationality. You want her, it said, so take her. Who knows, you might be able to do her in the process. Little Reid, about to lose the v-card to a prostitute. Who could've guessed that?

And it started laughing; laughing so loudly a migraine appeared out of nowhere.

You can't ignore me, Spencer. I'm here. I'm always here.

"Reid?"

I jumped and my mind was on Hotch. And they were all looking at me. JJ, Morgan, Garcia, Ashley, Rossi. They all had those concerned looks and, immediately, it pissed me off. I needed to focus. Just say no. Say you don't want to take her. But, in the end, the words slipped. "I'll take her."

And, now…

Hold on.

God, I'm so stupid. Stupid, stupid...

Damn Spencer. Who knew fishnets on a girl's legs would look so damn attractive?

Shut up. Stop. Just stop.

What?

Stop!

Spencer and Alison sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G. She's in the shower, Spencer. Perfect time to do her.

Stop. Please.

It's getting worse, Spencer. You're sick. Before you know it, you'll be in a straight jacket, screaming like the loons your job revolves around.

I SAID STOP!

You're mine, Spencer Reid. And whatever I say, goes. In the end, it always does.

I can't sleep. I tried, but, I can't…I've locked myself in here. In my room. Who knew a man could be a prisoner within his own home, or, really, within his own mind? The more I suppress this, the worse it gets. It hasn't even been a day, yet. What is the matter with me? All I've done is made matters worse. No. He can't win. I won't let him...

It's six in the morning. I had another nightmare again, since, for once, my mind was suddenly quiet and I actually slept. I was sitting at my usual spot in the briefing room, waiting for the others. I had gotten a call from Garcia, saying it was important and I was needed right away. All of a sudden, in the middle of all this waiting, the lights went out and everything just stopped. There was a voice, somewhere, whispering my name in the dark. A hand touched the back of my neck and, then, the voice quietened just as the door to the room opened. And there was the silhouette of someone with a bright, white light behind them. When they spoke, I immediately knew who was there.

Spencer, Emily said. Long time no see. You're looking well.

What happened to lights?

The lights should be the last of your worries, Spence, she laughed. Where's Alison?

How do you know about her?

I know everything, Spencer. But, the more important question here is, do you?

I don't know anymore, I whispered.

Well, then that's a problem, now isn't it?

She shook her head and took a step back. Come on, Spencer. Follow me.

I got up and I did, right into the blinding light that suddenly dissolved away. And Emily...Emily was gone. I was alone again, this time next to the elevator. Bloody handprints were smeared on the doors and, when they opened, I fell back. Inside was JJ, hanging from the ceiling by a single wire, swaying back and forth, her neck broken, her face blue. Her glassy eyes caught mine and I pushed myself back on the of nowhere, Henry, my godson, crawled forward until he was at my feet. He sat down and looked at me. Why did you let them die, Spencer, he asked, his voice loud. Why did you let my mommy die? He pointed a small finger at me and screamed. Murderer! He then cast his finger in another direction and I stared. Everywhere, there were bodies, all of them women. Their throats were cut, some were strangled, a few were shot, many were stabbed multiple times...But the team...they hung from the ceiling, just like JJ. Blood dripped from the tips of their fingers.

MURDERER! MURDERER!


	3. The Spencer Reid Journals 3

ENTRY 3:

This can't be happening. Jesus...

Another body was found last night. Same signature. It was a male, this time. His name was Robert Fitz. Twenty-three years old. He was heading to a restaurant to meet his date and he never showed up. A woman walking her dog found him, his face gone. He had been stabbed fifty-seven times.

Rossi and Seaver went to Robert's apartment and, sure enough, they found the box, his face, and another Post-It. This time, it said PLAYER. Still, though, something's bothering me. Robert had supposedly left the apartment wearing a checkered red tie. When he was found, the tie was gone. JJ assumed that a homeless person or a druggie must have taken it to make a quick buck, but Hotch dismissed it. Robert still had his wallet, which had fifteen dollars in it. Any sensible person living on the streets would have taken the victim's personal items, not just a tie.

By the time I got to the BAU, leaving Alison at my place, they were all there waiting for me. I asked Hotch how come he hadn't called me and I had to find out from Garcia.

"Because," he had said, "Morgan told me you called him at six in the morning. I figured you needed some time to sleep in and not come into work out of it."

It took everything in me to not crush the half empty coffee cup in my hand. Instead, I just stared at it and threw it in the garbage. Morgan just couldn't keep anything confidential, could he? No. Instead, he had to go and blab to Hotch. Nothing was private, nothing was sacred. I might as well just scream that I'm going insane. I mean, here I am, now, sitting in the damn briefing room, with nobody in here. Talk about déjà vu. Now, all I needed was for the stupid lights to go out.

That would really be something, wouldn't it?

Speaking of Morgan, talking to him this morning had really been the hardest. I had wanted to tell him everything: the nightmares, the voices, everything. Instead, I had just told him that me taking Alison had been a bad idea from the very beginning and that he needed to come over and pick her up, let her stay at his place. All he did was laugh. Laugh. He fucking laughed.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

No, I said. I just think it's better if she stays with you. It was stupid of me to even think that I could let her stay here.

"Reid, look. She's just another witness. Hotch is counting on you. We all are."

Why me? Why can't it be you?"

Kid, we all thought it was a good idea. I don't know if you think we're idiots or something, but me and JJ have noticed that you've been a bit off lately. I'm sure Hotch and the rest of the team have too. I mean, what's up with you?"

Nothing, I said. And, damn it, my voice cracked. Nothing. I'm fine.

"You're sure?"

Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure.

"Alright. Listen, if you do need me to take her out or whatever, get her out of your hair that way you don't go crazy on us and you can get some rest, I will. Just let me know, alright?" Then, he hung up.

That was the end of it.

Obviously, I had sounded more tired than I felt for Morgan to get the idea I was sleep-dialing. He probably assumed, like everybody else, that this was way too much for me to handle on my own. They all knew how I was around the opposite sex. I was dimwitted, awkward, socially inept, you take your pick.

JJ just entered. She's wearing a pencil skirt. Ruffled gray top. The same heels that she said Will bought her for her birthday. Her hair is pulled neatly in a ponytail. She looks beautiful.

Now I see why you had a thing for her, Reid. She's hot, sexy.

Not here. Not now.

Why not? I'm just saying. Little Jennifer is looking pretty damn good today. You know, she may be married, but I'm thinking she wouldn't mind if you…

STOP.

Enough with the bold letters, Spencer, alright? Give it a rest. Seriously. You're going to get nothing accomplished like that.

Just leave JJ out of this, alright? Please...

Why? She's hot, you like her. Who gives a shit if she's taken?

I am.

You sure about that? Last time I checked, you were still thinking about her. And not in a friendly way, either.

Shut up.

Oh, did I hit a nerve?

I said shut up.

You still ticked off about that whole Alison thing? Man, I thought you would've let that go by now.

SHUT. UP.

Just saying, Spence. You can choose. Either you get laid by a prostitute, or the married woman that led you on. You pick, or I'll pick for you.

Why can't you just stay out of this?

Why? I'll tell you why. It's because I'm taking care of you, Spencer. I'm helping you get everything you've denied yourself.

Just stop.

Oh look. Jennifer's coming this way.

Stop.

Time to play.

JJ's next to me, watching me write. I know I should close this stupid thing and put it away, but I can't. For some reason, I can't. And that voice, God, it's getting louder.

"Spence, you okay?"

Go away. Please go away.

"Spence?"

She has a hand on my shoulder, now.

"I'm fine." God, those words. Just go away. Just go away, JJ. Please.

"You sure?"

Nodding, now. It's all I can do. My hand is shaking. The voice is getting louder. It's laughing.

"Okay." She's rubbing my shoulder, like I'm a fucking two year old. "I'm here if you need anything, alright?"

Then stay a little, Jennifer.

GO AWAY!

Exclamation points. You're really stepping up Spencer.

"JJ, stop, alright?"

"Spence, I just…"

"I SAID STOP!"

I literally just felt her jump. What I must look like right now. A monster. A freak...

"Spencer…"

"I don't need you treating me like I'm your baby, alright? I'm getting sick and tired of everyone around here coddling me and holding my hand like I'm a child.""Spence, I wasn't trying…""Oh, shut up Jennifer! Seriously, of all the people on this team, you're the last one I need fucking sympathy from. I mean, God! You know, ever since you came back here, things have gone straight down to hell for everybody. And trust me: Your little good girl routine? It's pretty sickening. It may work as an appealing guise for everyone else, but I'm the only one that can see you for what you really are: A horrible liar and a slut who enjoys leading guys on. Wonder what your dead sister must think of you now."

I'm looking away from her now. I know if I do, I'm going to regret it. All I can hear is her breathing. It's gone from steady to ragged. I wonder if she's crying. God, if she hates me, I deserve it. I can't have her around me anymore. I just can't.

Why not, Spencer? You afraid of what's going to happen?

I can't have her around me. She's running out of the room now, her ponytail bobbing. She bumped into Morgan, but she's still going. And she's gone.

"What's up with JJ?"

I'm still writing. My leg is bouncing, like I have no control. "I don't know."

I should feel like shit for doing what I just did. But I'm not. Why?

Because, Spencer. It's just another thing you've been wanting to say to her for a long time. Congratulations. You've finally gotten a spine.

I have to stop writing. Right now.

We're heading over to victim# 2's house. His name was Zachary Buchannan. He was thirty-five. He left behind a wife and two sons. His wife found the box after she picked up their children from baseball practice. The Post-It was the one that read LIAR. Why we're just now getting into the business of really questioning the victim's families is beyond my comprehension. JJ isn't even looking at me. Her eyes are rimmed red and Ashley asked her what was wrong before we seperated into the vehicles. She didn't say anything, but instead gave me a glare before climbing in next to Hotch and slamming the door. I had hurt her. The one woman that had been able to tolerate my antics and accept me I had shoved away. She had been my safety-net for when I had no one else. And now, now she was gone. And I wasn't getting her back.


	4. The Spencer Reid Journals 4

Things had not gone the way that I had expected them to. I had thought, at least, Zachary Buchannan's wife would have been lenient and talked to us. Instead, she told us to get the hell away from her and off of her property, that she didn't need us bothering her or her children. They had already been through enough.I expected Hotch to step in, but, instead, he just turned to me and Morgan and told us that there was no use in arguing with the victim's family; that it would only make us seem like the bad guys instead of the ones trying to be the heroes. Something in me wanted to disagree. Or, really, push aside Hotch and waltz into the woman's home, whether she wanted us there or not. It wasn't as if she were grieving. No. Instead, it seemed like she was hiding something, something she didn't want to tell us.

Maybe she had come to terms with what the note said. LIAR. Her husband had been killed by someone who had deemed him a hypocrite, a fraud.

Isn't that what little Ashley is? A fraud?

We just got back from the Buchannan house. Everyone is leaving. Me, I'm just sitting here at my desk, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. JJ won't even look at me, now. I could say goodbye to her and she wouldn't even notice.

Really? You're an ace at being inconspicuous. It's hard to do with you. You didn't answer my question. Isn't Ashley a fraud?

No, she's…

Because, the way I see it, Seaver is a whiny bitch who tries to be strong, when, really, she's weak, spineless. Just like you used to be. Look at her Spencer. Tell me what you...

No.

No? Do I hint a bit of cowardice?

Stop.

I SAID LOOK AT HER SPENCER!. AT. HER.

Or what?

Don't tempt me, Spencer. Now. Look. At. Her. Now, what do you see?

Blonde.

That's it? God, Spencer, I thought you would've noticed a bit more. Have you already forgotten why she is the way she is?

She had an eating disorder…

Bingo. She had an eating disorder. How pathetic is that?

It's 's not.

When did you start taking sides, Spence? Oh. That's right. Back when you thought about fucking her.

Shut up. I'm sensing a thing with you. You like blondes, huh? Thing is, THEY don't like YOU.

I said shut up.

You know, screw Ashley. What about Rossi?

What about him?

He's the coward out of all of us. Last time I checked he's been married how many times? Twice?

Three.

Right. Three. And he let the one he cared about the most get away from him. He might be abrasive, sure, but you and I both know under that rough shell is a coward who would much rather head down to the nearest strip club than get within five feet of a serial killer.

I'm not going to listen to you. I'm done.

With what, Spencer? Knowing that I'm right?

No. I'm done listening to the shit you're saying. None of it's true.

None of of it? Tell me, Spencer, what is Rossi doing?

He's talking to Ashley.

Right. The playboy is talking to the whiny bitch. Isn't that a match for ya?

God, I can hear him laughing in there. Why is it so loud, this time?

Stop writing, Spencer.

I have to stop writing. I have to stop. I need to...

C'mon, Spencer. I'm on a role here! You know, what about Garcia?

Leave her out of this, alright?

Why? Why would I leave the fat geek who just sits behind a computer all day, alone?

Please…

Because, isn't that what she does? No, wait a minute. She also likes to get flirty with Morgan, doesn't she? Wonder if those two like to get a little hot and heavy in his office when Kevin's not around?

Garcia would never do that. And neither would Derek.

You sure about that? Because, as we all know, Morgan's gotten a little out of control lately. And, seriously, he's beginning to piss me off.

What do you mean?

What do I mean, Spencer? Really! He's told about you to Hotch, he's been giving you weird looks all morning... You know, the way I see it, I think he likes you.

I need to put the pencil down. I need to get out of here. Seaver is already in the elevator along with JJ. For the first time today, she's smiling and laughing. I still have yet to feel the detestation of doing what I did to her. How she must hate me, now. How she must think of how she could have ever cared for anyone so callous and

Don 't ignore me, Spencer.

I'm not.

All this protectiveness and all of this "brotherly" relationship crap; I think it's just a get-up for him to hide what he's really after: You.

Shut up...He's had girlfriends…Derek's had girlfriends…

That doesn't matter Spencer! What matters is that he's good friends with you. His flirtatious ways with Garcia and all of those other women? That's just something he hopes will make you jealous. He's never been able to hold down a steady relationship with a woman. But, if he gets a hold of you, you'll just be his scrawny little fuck buddy…Oh. He's looking at you, isn't he?

I SAID SHUT UP!

Face it, Spencer. What Carl Buford did to him…man, that really fucked him up. Big time. And that's why he likes you Spencer. Because he doesn't like the beautiful women. Oh no. He likes you. He loves you. Why don't you just tell him to shove off? That you don't like him like that? Because, as we all know, you are a lady's man, aren't you? Especially with cute and sensational Alison Gray.

Just please, stop…I need to leave. God, Rossi's grabbing his coat and heading to the elevator. Garcia is hugging Morgan goodbye, the large pink flower of her headband poking against his forehead.

When's the last time you hugged a girl, Spencer?

I need to leave. It's so late…and I'm so tired…

You're not tired, Spencer. But I bet little Jackie is, waiting up for his daddy to get home every single night, hoping and praying he's alive. Unlike Mommy. Workaholic Daddy never being able to kiss his son goodnight. What kind of father is that? Of course, you would know, wouldn't you? Your father was the same way.

St-

No more writing for you, Spencer. This is my game now. And you want to know what I think of Aaron Hotchner? He's a classic narcissist. Losing Haley wasn't enough to cut down his ego a notch, and neither was losing Emily. Watching them lower his wife into the ground only made him the bigger man. Burying a team member, same thing. And handing over his title to Derek? That wasn't nothing. He's still the superior asshole he's always been and always will be. But, of course, you know, you can't talk about Aaron without bringing up Jason.

Don't-

Didn't I say I was in control, Spencer? Now, about Jason Gideon. He was the real father in your life, right? The one that was always there for you. He was strong and he cared. But, then again, he babied you, just like Jennifer, didn't he? He may have had you stand your ground against the big bad wolves you went against, but that was only because he knew you would fall in the end. Just like you did with the drugs and Tobias. And all it took was for his own ghosts to take away the one thing he had in this world for him to resign. Pity, don't you think? That all he left for you was that letter? He abandoned you, Spencer. You may keep on thinking that he loved you and nurtured you like his own, when, really, he was glad to be rid of you. After all, you were just a wide-eyed puppy who followed him around all the time, prattling off facts, pretending to be someone you weren't. All the crap he said to you, he didn't mean. It was all just a load of bullshit. Every. Last. Bit. I bet he was laughing to himself when he wrote that letter and left it there at his cabin. What did it say again? "I'm sorry the explanation couldn't be better, Spencer, and I'm sorry it doesn't make more sense. But I've already told you: I just don't understand any of it anymore. I guess I'm just looking for it again; for the belief that I had back in college, the belief I had when I first met Sarah; it all seemed so right. The belief in happy endings." But what happy endings are those, Spencer? The one where the white knight saves his beloved in the end? The one where everything goes right for the champion and he once again becomes loved by all of his fellow countrymen? If you want my opinion, Spencer, Gideon was a traitor. A traitor to you, to this team. Why you still even think about him and cling on to that fragment of hope that he comes back is beyond me. Honestly, it's -I'm not done, Spencer. And isn't it rude to interrupt someone when they're talking? Like I was saying, you want to know who I think is the bigger traitor?

Who?

Finally. He actually gets to ask a very important question.

Who?

Emily. Emily Prentiss. Oh, she may have seemed like the doting friend you always wanted, the one that always seemed to have your back in every little situation. But, honestly, dying was her only way to get away from you. She was a traitor to you, Spencer, and, yet, you still think about her like an obese fucker thinks about fetching his Snickers from underneath his pillow. Don't even get me started on Elle...

That's it. This is over. I'm going home. I can't believe I let it go on for as long as it did. Why is it getting worse? Why is his voice getting louder in my head? Why do I feel like, every time I look at my friends, all I see is them through his eyes: These dismal hypocrites who may show empathy when, really, all they care about is themselves? Why is it I can no longer look at myself in the mirror without seeing his grinning face and wild eyes? All these whys, Spencer, and you haven't been able to answer one of them.I'm so glad I'm at home, now and away from them. The whole time I was trying to make it to the elevator, he kept on saying to turn around and destroy someone else, just like I had done JJ. But I couldn't take it. I couldn't take annihilating someone else, someone that was so important to me. I need to sleep. I just need to sleep.

'Course you do Spencer. Because, as we all know, even the crazy ones need their sleep. Alison's still here, isn't she?

Why?

She asleep on the couch? Asleep in that lacy nightgown that shows off those pretty legs of hers?

Fuck. You.

Oh look, Spencer's dropping the f-bomb, now. Here's something: Why don't you go fuck Alison? I'm sure she wouldn't mind. I mean, she has been screwing guys for two years now.

She's none of your concern. Not anymore.

None of my concern? On the contrary, Spencer. She's every last bit of my concern. And so are you.

Get the hell out of my head. Get out. Now. No, Spence. I'm not through with you. Yet.


End file.
